


ichthyic

by pyknicGinger



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternative Universe - Mermaids, Gen, M/M, Not strictly romantic pairing, shitty warmup i wrote mostly drunk after the first chapter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-08
Updated: 2017-03-08
Packaged: 2018-09-30 18:04:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 4,903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10168724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pyknicGinger/pseuds/pyknicGinger
Summary: You frown. "You got caught in the net on your own, you know.""Youput the net out in the first place.""Yeah, but, like, I didn't stuff youinthe net."It scowls, maybe thinking it over, maybe deciding whether or not to eat you. It occurs to you that maybe you shouldn't be provoking it. Then, suddenly, it sighs--a kind of wet noise almost like someone blowing bubbles into milk through a straw. "Okay, fair. I'm still pissed, though. Now, are you gonna help me or not?"





	1. seaside

**Author's Note:**

> a series of warmups from a while back, gifted to syd. 
> 
> because it's a warmup series, it hasn't been proofread by anyone but spellcheck.

The sea is ordinary this morning--quiet and calm, but not overly so; the kind of weather that promises an average catch. You'd left early, assuring your sister that you wouldn't need her help bringing in the nets you'd put out the day before because the weather isn't rocky and you're convinced they won't be heavy enough to warrant an extra pair of hands.

Your name is JOHN EGBERT and you are TIRED, because despite waking up early every day to do your job, you HATE MORNINGS. _Especially_ mornings like this--boring ones.

Your small fishing boat rocks ever-so-slightly as you haul in the third net of your rounds, and you hum a little to yourself, dumping the load into the hull's storage compartment. You can't hear your voice over the sound of the motor idling, but you can feel your throat vibrating--it's comforting, somehow.

Once the net is empty you make sure the buoys are still secure and toss it back out into the water, stretch a little, and then head back to the cockpit. After a few minutes, the fourth and final net of the morning comes into view, and you can already feel yourself mentally preparing to head back toward the shore.

The fourth net is heavier than the others--that's the first thing you notice. After a few tugs you start to wonder if you should go back and get Jade to help you with this one, but decide heading all the way home would be a hassle. Instead, you put a little more elbow-grease into your grip--and then, all of a sudden, the net starts _fighting back_.

It's not like you haven't dealt with it before. Sometimes when you catch a particularly big fish or something a shark that doesn't want to be dragged onboard they'll start struggling to get free, the fight for survival revived for just a moment. It's uncommon but not impossible to deal with--just annoying. You brace your feet against the railing and _pull_ , heaving with all your might and more than a little irritated.

Finally, with one last tug, the mass of fish flops onto the deck, and without the resistance your own momentum pulls you back onto your ass. " _Shit_ ," you mumble, thankful you hadn't hit your head. Cleaning up all the fish now flopping around you is going to be a pain and a half, and you don't really want Jade to chew you out for--

" _Fuck you, you dick! Put me back in the water! What the fuck is your_ problem _, pulling innocent guys outta the ocean like that? Fuck you!_ "

You blink, wondering for a brief moment if you _had_ hit your head, before your eyes land on the abandoned net again--and what's _in_ it.

"Uh."

"Don't just _stare_ at me, for fuck's sake! Christ!" the thing shouts over the sound of the motor, glaring at you through the holes in the weave. Its eyes are red, slightly darker in color than the massive cascading tale glistening halfway down its body. Matching fins feather its... arms? And neck? Alongside pale skin, framing a sneer wrapped around glistening, pointed teeth.

It looks like a person, and also a fish, and also maybe something in between.

And it's _yelling_ at you.

The only thing you can think to say is, "Ah, sorry," which is, apparently, the wrong answer.

" _Sorry_ isn't gonna get me back in the fucking ocean," it spits back, this time gesturing toward the side of the boat with its... hands? It has fingers, but they're webbed, tinted red just like the rest of its weirdly non-human parts.

Not really sure what to else do and working more than a little on autopilot, you scramble to your feet with the intention of untangling it from the net--only to stop once you realize you have no idea if this thing is dangerous or not.

It looks ready to start chewing you out again, but before it can speak you say, "You gotta promise you won't attack me, okay?" more than a little wary.

The thing waves its hand at you. "Yeah, yeah--although, theoretically, if I _did_ it would be totally justified because _you_ pulled me up here."

You frown. " _You_ got caught in the net on your own, you know."

" _You_ put the net out in the first place."

"Yeah, but, like, I didn't stuff you _in_ the net."

It scowls, maybe thinking it over, maybe deciding whether or not to eat you. It occurs to you that maybe you shouldn't be provoking it. Then, suddenly, it sighs--a kind of wet noise almost like someone blowing bubbles into milk through a straw. "Okay, fair. I'm still pissed, though. Now, are you gonna help me or not?"

Rationality wins out over uncertainty and you decide that you're probably a lot safer with it _off_ your boat, so you start approaching again, this time cautious. The thing looks impatient, surprisingly human, and for a second you actually _do_ feel kind of bad for pulling it up.

After a few minutes of telling it to stop struggling, you finally get its fins untangled from the rope, at which point it just kind of lays there on the deck, glaring at you. You motion to the water on the other side of the railing. "Well?"

It rolls its eyes. "Do I look like I can jump outta here? Just--I dunno--throw me overboard or something."

You blink at it. "Seriously?"

" _Yes_ , seriously. God, are all land-dwellers this _dense_ , or is it just _you_?"

You resent that, and tell it so in no uncertain terms. "Are all fish people stupid enough to get caught in nets, or is it just _you_?"

That shuts it up for a moment. Then, finally, through gritted teeth, it replies, " _Please_ toss me overboard."

It's not like you have a better option, anyway.

With a sigh of your own, you crouch down and in one swift motion sweep the creature up bridal style, trying to ignore how slimy its skin and scales feel. It gives a muffled _oof_ at the sudden motion, but otherwise doesn't say anything, and as soon as its in your arms you fling it over the railing.

It hits the water with a massive _smack_ , and for a moment you wonder if you should have been a little gentler--if you'd hurt it. But after a second it resurfaces, shaking out its white hair? And scowling at you again.

For some reason, while it's still there, you feel the need to call, "Sorry you got caught in the net!"

To which it responds, "You're still a dick!" before submerging again, disappearing under the waves.

You stand there for a moment, half-convinced you'd just hallucinated the entire encounter, but the slick residue left on your bare arms and shirt keeps you from completely assuring yourself you're not crazy.

  
  


 


	2. caves

When you finally make your way back to the cave, the first thing you see is Rose floating lazily near the ceiling, weaving seaweed together at a pace that betrays her stress despite an outwardly calm facade.

Despite having had most of the morning to come up with some kind of excuse as to why you've been gone almost a full twenty-four hours, you can't think of anything to say when she turns toward you and pins you down with a glare cold enough to freeze the whole fucking ocean. " _Dave!_ " She doesn't move, but her weaving stops, and despite the fact that you're hovering across the threshold--over a dozen feet away from her--your fight or flight response spikes.

Your name is DAVE STRIDER and you're FUCKED. If there's one thing you've learned over the course of your life, it's that you should never, _never_ PISS OFF your SISTER. And you've gone and done exactly that.

You raise one hand in a lazy wave, hoping you can play the whole thing off. "Sup."

Her expression stays firmly fixed on _infuriated_ , but her voice stays level. "I see that you failed to procure the fish you set out to catch _yesterday morning_."

"Well--"

"And that your spear is _missing_."

"Actually--"

"Please, enlighten me as to where you've been."

"I'm _trying!_ " you yell, more than a little irritated by how calm she sounds. "I got caught up in some stuff, okay? No big deal."

"How fantastically vague," she drawls back, unamused and _clearly_ not willing to let it go.

You swim over to one of the seaweed bags secured to the cave wall and pointedly avoid eye contact with her as you rumage for one of the spare spearheads inside. "Look, I'll make another spear, I'll go back out, I'll get us some food--no big deal."

Rose hums, and when you turn back around you see that she's returned to her weaving. "Not before you inform the council that you are still very much alive."

Your heart stops, and you let go of the carved stone in your hand. "You told the _council_ I was missing?"

She barely reacts. "I'm not sure what you expected, Dave. I was concerned that you were either lost, unable to make your way back home, or had been captured by land-dwellers, in which case--" No matter how hard you try not to react, you feel your whole body sieze up at the mention of humans, and against all hope and rationality Rose _notices_. Fucking sea witch. She turns her attention back to you and you want to disappear. "You _were caught_? Dave, do you have any idea how _dangerous_ that is? You've but the entire colony in danger!"

You snort, grabbing the spearhead again. "Oh, no _thank God you're alive_ or _you could have been killed_ or whatever?" As you turn to leave, you hear Rose sigh.

"This is bigger than you, Dave. Trust me, I _am_ very thankful that you returned in good health, and if you had come home injured we would be having a very different conversation. But the fact remains that you are _fine_ , and my concern for the colony outweighs my concern for a single, reckless individual."

Without bothering to look at her, you bite out, "Thanks, I feel _so_ fucking loved," and leave without another word.

* * *

 

Despite Rose's warnings, you don't visit the council. You know for a fact that _she_ knows you won't, and will probably go on your behalf like the good little citizen she is. Instead, you head for the gutted shipwrecks at the edge of the cove, searching for a piece of driftwood you can widdle down to a new spearhandle.

You'll be the first to admit you're kind of an idiot, but you'd gone up to the human nets with good intentions! It's easier to catch fish that have already been caught than hunting for yourself, right? Okay, _maybe_ you hadn't anticipated how heavy the nets would be, and _maybe_ you hadn't considered the fact that once you got _in_ the net you'd have trouble getting out, but everything worked out just fine! No harm, no foul. You've learned your lesson, blah blah blah.

Besides, once the council gets wind of the fact that you talked with a human, the guy who'd thrown you off his boat will probably get the axe anyway. Kill all witnesses, protect the colony, continue to live in peace--the council's motto. (Or something like that.) It won't matter if you don't tell them yourself--you'd been in the same room with Rose, and she'd probably done her weird Seer hindsight thing to get a good glimpse of what he looked like as soon as you'd thought of him.

For a second you feel bad--it isn't the human's fault you'd fucked up, and now he'd have to pay for your mistakes with his life.

And he hadn't really _seemed_ evil--not really the kind of selfish, environment-killing jerk you've been hearing about your whole life in lessons. Hell, he'd _apologized_ for dragging you up, and not once did he make a move to take you to shore.

You could always warn him, maybe threaten him into silence or something. Tell him to get a new job and skip town. It's not that you actually _care_ about what happens to him or anything--he's just a land-dweller, after all--but it's a blow to your pride! Someone else taking the fall for what you did and all that bullshit.

As you thatch together a new spear with the materials you've found, you actually consider going back to the nets--to finish what you'd started yesterday, of course. To get an easy catch, nothing super deep or heroic or anything.

If you happen to see the guy again, though, you might say something.

Maybe.

 


	3. homegrown

You don't actually go back to the nets until the next morning, because things come up and you're dragged off to the council to make your case before you get the chance. And when you finally _do_ manage to sneak away, it's not really your intention to head toward the shore at all—you just want to get away from all the questioning, all the stupid looks you keep getting from everyone.

Your name is still DAVE STRIDER, and you are PISSED OFF.

Okay, maybe not _pissed_ , really—but very solidly irritated. You messed up _once_ and everything turned out _fine_ , but somehow the rest of the community is acting like you're either a) about to die, or b) a criminal. Overall, the last forty-eight hours have royally sucked.

You don't even realize you've swum toward the shore until you start to see the hanging crab traps and nets—and notice the stark absence of freely-swimming fish. For a moment, you panic, and then the next thought that crosses your mind is _Yeah, if they're not angry now, they will be if they find out I'm here again_.

Even so, you decide to make the best of the opportunity, and grip your spear a little tighter. You don't need to find a particularly full net to raid—just one with enough fish to make it look like you've actually gone and done something productive with your day.

Then, you spot it.

One of the nets has something in it. Not a fish, but what looks like a piece of trash caught on the rope. That irritates you more than the thought of getting caught (humans dumping their _shit_ in _your_ ocean!) so, against your better judgement, you head for it with every intention of... you don't know what. Throwing it at someone, maybe.

As you approach, though, you notice that its staying relatively put despite the rocking currents. Stuck to the net, maybe? Or...

Oh, it's _tied_ to the net, secured with a zip-tie.

It looks like a plastic bag with a note and something else inside, very deliberately put out so that someone would find it—and that would only happen if the person who attached it were aware that someone _could_. A message from that _guy_.

You sigh and consider just destroying it. Opening the bag to desintigrate the paper and destroy the evidence right then and there. But something gets the better of you at the last second—curiosity, probably.

Instead of making the proof of your crimes disappear, you carefully pry the bag loose, making sure not to let any water inside, and take off toward one of the less-crowded coves on the shoreline. You'll only need to surface for a second—enough to see what's inside—but even that will be dangerous. You're risking your hide for this! The dude must either be completely clueless or an insensitive jerk.

As soon as you find a place you're sure no one will see you—behind some rocks, away from the more touristy areas of the beaches—you break the surface and tread water with your tail. Getting the note out of the bag takes a little bit of work because your hands are wet, but you manage as well as you can and squint at the _atrocious_ handwriting.

_sorry about yesterday! i went to the store and saw some gummy worms and thought of you, so they're my apology gift! i hope you like them (;_

_please be more careful around the nets!_

_john_

Gummy worms?

You inspect the other thing in the bag—another, smaller bag with what looks like brightly colored, translucent worms inside. You blink at them, and then back at the note, and then dunk them both in the water out of frustration. That _dick_ , giving you _bait_ as an apology! You duck your head under the surface and float there for a moment, watching the paper disintigrate and the ink blur, but you're not really sure what to do with the other thing. Maybe toss it back to shore?

You start heading toward the coast to do exactly that, taking your time as you do, careful not to get tangled in any stray lines or ropes on the way, inspecting the package with mild interest and more than a little frustration.

_Gummy Crawlies! The PERFECT candy for a movie with the family! A fun Halloween treat!_

The back of the bag has a lot of words you don't understand, but the smiling human children on the front give you just a little bit of pause. Maybe he—this John guy—had meant it as a joke, but it's not like he'd given you _actual_ worms, right?

You decide to try one—just one!--and to open the package underwater instead of surfacing again. If the stuff doesn't survive then no harm no foul, it's not your fault, blah, blah, blah.

Whether fortunately or unfortunately, the candy doesn't disintegrate, and a few float out in front of you, slowly jiggling in the currents. Huh.

And as it turns out, they don't actually taste terrible.

They have a weird texture—like rubber but not—and they're really, really sweet. Sweeter than anything you've ever eaten before. You can't eat more than two or three, even; that's how much sugar has been packed into this shit.

But they don't suck, and a very, very, _very_ small part of you thinks it's kind of funny that the guy went so far as to buy candy for you as an apology for something that really wasn't his fault, so you decide to keep the rest.

 


	4. sister

You don't see the fish person again, and on some level that absence serves both to discourage and motivate you. You're not without circumstantial evidence that it _does_ exist, though, and, as a direct result, proving you're not crazy becomes a kind of fanatical obsession.

When your first note and the gummy worms disappear, you manage to convince yourself that there's a fifty-fifty chance they could have been swept away by the tides, so the fact that they're gone isn't concrete enough. So the next morning you include a different note, this time with a little bit of an introduction of yourself and a question or two—hoping to get _some_ kind of response. Jade is on the boat with you, so you have to do it with _some_ degree of stealth (which isn't actually a talent you have), but the job gets done. (You spend the rest of the day fielding suspicious looks from your sister.)

Your name is JOHN EGBERT, and you're trying to become FRIENDS with a FISH PERSON. Well, _friendship_ might be pushing it a little, but curiousity is the foundation for all things, right? Even an epic broship between man and marine creature.

Almost a week passes before you actually get any proof that it's real, and in that time seven notes and seven gifts—little trinkets, some snacks, nothing too elaborate—disappear. Also in that time, you start to doubt more and more whether or not what you're pursuing is even real, but the fact that the packages keep vanishing is enough to keep up the game.

Then, on the seventh or eighth day (you've lost count), you pull up the nets and something flops out with the rest of your catch.

It's a bundle of seaweed woven into some kind of pliable bag, and inside is a wet, salty collection of sea shells, smoothed glass, and rocks. All some varying shade of red or pink.

You can't decide if you want to cry or laugh, so you just settle for leaning halfway over the side of your boat and scrutinizing the water. For a fleeting moment, you think you see a flash of red under the surface, but it's gone as soon as it appears and, despite the hope it may have been the person-animal-thing you're looking for, you eventually write it off as a reflection of the glass on the water.

You finish the day's work feeling like a million dollars—grinning like an idiot and with more energy than you've had in _months_. And when you're finally back home you carefully unpack the back, laying out everything you'd received (dozens of little prizes, a whole collection) and washing each carefully.

And then you set off to find something to give in return.

 


	5. the war

On the twenty-third morning of swapping gifts, it—he--breaks the surface of the water while you're hauling in the nets. Jade is with you this time, because the weather is perfect for a huge catch and the work quickly becomes a two-man job. And, of course, because nothing is ever easy, _she_ is the one who spots him first.

You hear her scream before you hear him calling your name, and both have you rushing over to the side of the boat with something several steps past _urgency_ in your gait.

“John! _John!_ Christ, stop yelling— _John, if you're up there, get your ass over here right the fuck n—_ oh, hey.”

You gently guide Jade, who has stopped screaming and started, like, _actually_ freaking out, away from the railing. “One second, dude,” you call out to the sea, trying to stay calm yourself.

“Seriously?” you hear him say. “This is _important!_ ”

“Yeah, well, that's what you get for terrifying my sister.”

It takes a minute or two to get Jade breathing normally again—and also for her to believe both you and yourself that _yes_ , there is a dude with a tail floating next to your boat. As soon as she sort of accepts that, you're back staring at the water, practically hanging over the rail.

He's treading water quietly, a scowl on his face, and you realize in that instant that he knows _your_ name but you don't know his.

You clear your throat. “So, uh, what brings you up here...?”

“Dave.”

“Your name is Dave?” you can't help the surprised lilt in your voice.

He eyes you. “Yeah? What were you expecting? Zoosmell Pooplord?”

You snort a little at that. “Well, _no_ , but I guess I kind of thought mermaids had—I don't know— _exotic_ names.”

He rolls his eyes and starts treading water in circles, then, and if he hadn't been halfway in the ocean you might have thought he was pacing. “That's kind of racist, you know.”

Jade smacks you on the back of the head, and you turn back at her, blinking. She still looks pretty shaken up, but she's frowning at you, now, too. “Don't be a dick.”

“Right, right—sorry, Dave.”

“Apology accepted. _Now_ , if we're done shooting the shit, I gotta talk to you,” he replies, sort of waving you off a little and then getting unnervingly serious. “Long story short, I shouldn't be interacting with you at all, and because I _have_ been you're gonna get killed.”

You're not entirely sure you've heard him right. “Uh, _what?_ ”

“Illegal inter-species friendships, dude.”

The only logical thing you can think to say is, “Isn't _that_ kind of racist?”

He just shrugs. “I dunno, maybe? It makes sense, though! I mean, I get where the council is coming from. You humans are all about scientific advancements and discovery and destruction and shit. If you'd been anyone else, you might have taken me away and sent me off to some lab when we first met. I'll admit the whole _kill all witnesses_ thing is a _little_ extreme, but it's not like they don't have their reasons.”

You stare at him, a little offended, but the more you think about it at least _some_ of what he's saying is true. He doesn't say anything else for a moment, maybe letting you process the information—the news that _oh yeah_ , apparently there's an _execution order_ out on your head—and you flip through an array of emotions in just a few seconds. Disbelief, offense, fear, anger.

You end up feeling a mixture of all four.

“Why the hell are you just telling me _now_?”

At the very least, he has the decency to look apologetic. “I don't know, okay? I was just... curious, I guess. About what you were like! I was gonna tell you the morning you dropped your first note, but I've never really had the chance to get to know a human, and you didn't turn me in so I thought maybe I'd see what you were like! And it turned out that you were not _super_ lame, so I didn't want you to leave, and--”

The more he talks, the more he nervously flits around, you start to realize that he really is genuinely stressed about this, and that everything he's saying is the truth. In spite of the situation, you start to feel bad for him—more so than you, who hadn't even been aware of his existence up to this point—he's known about humans and never been allowed to interact with them. If anything, he's like a little kid trying to make a friend in his neighborhood that his parents don't approve of for purely aesthetic reasons.

That doesn't change the fact that you might _die_ because of it, though.

“Okay, okay,” you say, gently cutting him off as he keeps rambling in the most drawn out apology you've ever heard. “What am I supposed to do?”

He goes quiet for a moment, then sighs, sinking down into the water until just his eyes and above are visible. Like he doesn't want to say what he has to. And then, when he rises back up again—neck just out of the water—he mumbles, “You gotta leave, man.”

“Leave?”

“Yeah, like—you gotta go inland, away from the water. If you keep coming out here like this, they'll find you. Actually, I'm pretty sure they already have, and they're just twiddling their thumbs over politics at this point. It's not like they just go around killing people all the time, you know? There's a system in place, and, like, ethical debates they gotta go through.”

You glance at Jade, who looks very serious, but you can see the panic in her eyes. The worry.

“Okay,” you reply. “How long do I have to stay there?” He goes silent again, this time for a full minute. “Dave?”

“Forever, dude.”

 


	6. the end

The sea is ordinary this morning--quiet and calm, but not overly so; the kind of weather that promises an average catch. But today, you're not fishing.

You haven't fished for a long, long time.

Jane's little hands tug at the hem of your pants, and her iridescent blue swimsuit shines in the morning sun as she darts away, irritated in that way only a four year old could be at not having your undivided attention for more than a second or two.

Your name is JOHN EGBERT, and for the first time in a many years you've come back to the OCEAN. You don't plan to stay long, not really, but your GRANDDAUGHTER had insisted that YOU take her this morning, not her mother or her great aunt.

You sigh, watching her patter away from the sparse gatherings of people on the beach this early, tiny feet kicking up sand as she makes an awkward run for the tidepools in the cove just beyond the rocks. Although the town has changed—become a tourist haven, with large hotels to replace the family-owned boardwalk shops; with snorkeling tours to replace the once-bustling fishing trade—the beach and the sea have remained very much the same.

Before she darts completely out of sight, you pick up the pace and follow her, cane in one hand, sandals in the other, and her bag of sandcastle-building toys slung over your back. The cane is useless on the uneven ground, but for some reason you don't need it today. The sight and sound and smell of the sea has you feeling decades younger, a brief emotional remnant of a time long-past.

Jane curves out of sight, but you're close enough behind her that she won't be for long, and after a moment you, too, turn the corner to the tidepools.

And you freeze, just like the little girl in front of you, frozen in her tracks by the sight sitting idly in the small puddle of seawater.

He blinks at you, red eyes irritated at the situation and the sight of humans, the same as always. And you blink back at him, much older, so different.

“Hey,” he says, nonchalant to the point where you can't tell if he even recognizes you. “You wanna throw me back in the water?”

 


End file.
